


Die Alone

by MrMenace



Series: Sunsoaked [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Asexual Cole, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Solas, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Human Cole (Dragon Age), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Female Lavellan/Solas, Slow Burn, almost everyone apears at some point, i guess, warnings and such are at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMenace/pseuds/MrMenace
Summary: "Now you've got me running in circlesOh no, I guess it was only a matter of timeAnd now you're goneAnd I know I'll die alone."Everything changed. He did, too, but he'd never admit that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, come join me in hell. Parts of this are a bit weak, but i cant get it to how i want and rewriting it would be bad. Next chapter will be better. Hopefully you like this angst ridden fic (dont worry, there is fluff too) Thank you for reading, and please comment (just going "AAAAAAHHHH!!!" is enough ok, im not picky. Comments just make me very happy ok.)Thank you to Sorxu for: being an amazing beta, motivating me, writing the summary, being such a good friend, and pulling me into this ship. just....send them all the love ok they deserve it.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> -unhealthy coping mechanisms  
> -guilt and self-hate  
> -anger and violence  
> -denying help  
> -yelling in anger  
> -insistence to help once denied  
> -briefly eluded to past-abuse  
> -threats of bodily harm
> 
> If i missed anything, or there should be warnings inside the text , tell me and i will do so. Hope i got everything. Stay safe.

He could feel it. The tug, the hurt, calling him. He had tried helping, had tried talking to him. He needed to fix it, to untangle it, to make him shine brightly again, to seek out the knowledge and the thing he hid from him but he wouldn’t let him touch it, wouldn’t let him touch it.

“I just want to help.”

“Huh? What was that, kid?”

The deep voice came from next to him, startling. Cole looked up with bloodshot eyes, staring desperately into the one eye looking curiously at him.

“He wont let me touch the hurt. He won’t let me help! Why would he not want to heal, why would he want to hurt himself, to stare longingly, his face resting in her hands, not worthy, ‘I don’t deserve her’, not right, I need to end it, but her kind eyes pulling at his heart, unable to push away before it is too late, before-“

A large hand was gently placed on his shoulder, silencing him. He paused. He focused on the touch, the rough callused hand with big missing fingers. Did he understand? He pretended to not notice things, to ignore secrets and information.

“The Iron Bull, why won’t he let me help?” He said it slowly, trying to stop the quiver in his voice. Iron Bull grunted, sliding his arm around Cole´s narrow shoulders and pulling him close.

“Who?”

It took him opening his mouth three times before he trusted himself to speak without touching the flow of pain.

“Solas. He…remembers…when everything sang the same. She changes everything but-“ He stopped himself, “But …he won’t let me help him.”

Iron Bull sighed, rubbing Coles shoulder comfortingly. “Alright kid. Sometimes…things don’t work out between people. They get hurt, and they might get angry or feel like they have to leave. I don’t know what happened between Ethilia and Solas, but you can’t help him if he doesn’t want to be comforted. Go talk to Ethilia, help her instead. “

Cole leaned into Iron Bulls chest and rested his head on his collarbone, hearing the slight hitch in Iron Bulls breath. Cole pulled his knees up, trying to become as small as possible as he was enveloped by large arms.

“You can’t help everyone.”

“I can try.”

 

Solas stared at the paints. When he didn’t use them he kept them in his room, gathering dust. The jars tightly sealed, in the dark corner. Honestly, most of his room was kept dark, the only light left coming in from the windows.

The cool wind was stronger up here, proving further that Skyhold was indeed on top of a mountain. But in the courtyard, the air wasn’t flecked with snow, and the strong sun heated the ground. Solas could barely smell the scent of plants, with a whiff of elfroot coming up from the gardens below.

He breathed deeply, the cool air burning his lungs. Sometimes he just stared out, the scenery mesmerizing him. If he glanced down, he would see the Inquisitor glaring up at him. He tried not thinking about her, burying himself in his work. It was over, he had done what he had to.

At first, Ethilia had been confused and heartbroken. It had crushed Solas, seeing her in such torment. He had debated with himself, every time he saw her sad eyes on him searching for answers. Second guessing himself, regretting every decision he ever made. But her sad eyes turned angry, accusing, and it hurt him all the more.

He knew he deserved this. He deserved to suffer, to feel all the pain he caused those around him. He had tried, had tried so hard, but she had snuck under his defenses. He had wanted to push everyone away, for no one to be involved with what he was going to do. To be the aloof elven apostate, making minor comments but never being a part of their group. But here he was, staring down at the woman he loved, who he had left.

As Ethilia wandered away, Solas turned away from the window. He should go to the rotunda, look at the artifacts placed on his desk. There was no use in wallowing in this, he could do nothing now. He cast a last glance at the inquisitor.

He thought he had been subtle, not visible from the gardens below. He had been wrong.

The bolt hit his window frame, sinking deep into the wood. Solas let out a startled gasp and stumbled. He could see the Inquisitor, standing strong below him. Her crossbow hefted in one hand, the other made a rude gesture in his direction.

The people standing around her had different reactions. But she did not mind the gasps, sneers, and giggles. The only thing she did was stare at Solas and point at the bolt. Solas looked at it, seeing the note attached to it. Wincing, he gingerly reached for it. It was slightly comforting that her anger seemed more childish than murderous, but it was hard to tell sometimes. She chose to appear that way, acting unrestrained to put her people at ease.

He remembered nights spent gazing at the stars, speaking candidly, discussing everything they could. She had told him something: “You bring out something soft and honest in me. I thank you for that.”  
As he saw the real anger hiding behind her façade, he despaired that he had ripped that part of her away forever.

 

Cole saw the crumpled note on the bed. The paper was ripped, yellow, and stiff. Quickly ripped, used to hurt. He felt the anger in it, seeping into his fingers. The overwhelming sadness of the room. His wide eyes sought out the small things, the paints, the small stones, the piece of cloth lovingly folded, the wolf carved clumsily into stone. They all meant something to Solas.

Cole read the thing meant to hurt, the ink splotched. The swirls did not match the bite, the intent of the symbols. The words looked joking, silly. The confusion and contempt in those thin designs made him put it down again.

The only thing Cole touched that held any happiness were the stones. They made him gasp, the joy of knowledge and wonder in them startling. The memory making the deep misery even darker.

Cole sat on the neat bed, calming himself. The tangles were so strong here, so stark and bare. He shivered, thinking of how much the room remembered. If that was how much it had kept, how much pain was Solas actually in?

It made Cole afraid, how Solas had cut the hurt from him. He only wanted to help. It hurt him when Solas had said, plainly, _You cannot heal this_ , but he had chosen to do as he asked, to step away. Standing in the room, the evidence of his despair showing, Cole could not keep away.

His stillness abruptly ended, his lithe form darting out the window. He ran, keeping to shadows. He needed to help him.

 

He found Solas in the rotunda, deep in concentration. Solas features were cast in yellow light, hiding the slight circles under his eyes in the glow. His back was stiff, neck bent down as he stood and watched the object on his desk.

He must have sensed Cole rapidly approaching, because he straightened and turned. His face became a open smile as he saw Cole, about to greet him.

“Cole! How are yo-“

“Why won’t you let me help?”

Solas’s demeanor changed as he heard the anger in Coles voice. He folded his arms, tilted his head to the side, and stared disapprovingly at the spirit.

“We discussed this. There is nothing for you to help with. “

Cole felt Solas start closing off his emotions, only showing a blank face. The pain the elf felt slowly being cut off, as though he thought Cole might not notice. It angered him, it frightened him that Solas could have that much power over him.

“No! I need to _help_ you! You can’t _do_ that!” Solas raised his arms placatingly, trying to calm him down.

“Don’t do that! You need my _help_.” Cole grabbed Solas and stared desperately into his eyes

“Cole, this is _not_ your decision to make. Leave me. I will not say it again.”

“ _No_! you feel her face softly, knowing her words are meant to hurt, reveling in it, knowing you needed to do it, for them, for _all_ of them, for your _mistake_ , for he-“

“ _Cole_!”

Cole froze. In all the time they had spent together, all the times he had asked questions that others would not answer, Solas had never been angry. He had never had such rage in his eyes as he spoke his name, never anything like this.

Cole flinched and backed away, long arms wrapping around himself. He could see them again, hurting him, starving him, tormenting. They had been angry, like Solas was.

Cole started stumbling back, memory and pain slowing him as he stared to run. He could hear Solas behind him, calling desperately, but he didn’t listen.

Solas breathed hard, his hands shaking. He stared at them as Cole failed to answer, feeling bile rise in his throat. How could he do such a thing? Cole had done nothing wrong, only showed concern, and he had taken his anger out on him.

As he thought about his actions, he felt something hit him. startled, he whipped around to stare at the object. A book. A rather large book at that, written in Tevene.

Looking up, Dorian was staring at him. He had not noticed, too caught up in his own horror, to hear the silence. Dorian’s hands were empty, crossed over his chest. As Solas continued to stare, Dorian looked away in disgust. Solas fled.

 

The next days were spent hiding. Solas worked everywhere in Skyhold, doing all the work he could to distract himself. He would apologize to Cole, but he wanted to give the spirit time. That is what he told himself as he pretended to not know it was for his own benefit.

He had hurt Cole. He was still disgusted with himself, but after the second day decided to keep away. Cole was better without him anyway, he did not need someone who leeched so much of him. He would keep his distance, not hurt him or anyone ever again.

That had been the plan, until Ethilia threw him on the floor.

He was caught off guard, landing before he could react. He called upon his magic instinctively, about to make her fly across the room. But he hesitated. She did not. The punch was strong, the power of her whole body behind it.

Solas remembered her telling him about her siblings, playing and pretending to fight and coming home with bruises.

She was not trying to be gentle now.

His head hit the floor, his mind reeling and spinning. Her hand snaked around his collar, pulling him up. She sneered at him, lip curling.

“You will not break him like you did me. I don’t give a fuck what happened, or why. But you hurt him. If you break that kid, I will cut that pretty little head of yours off. Understood? “

Her hand held a pretty dagger. It shone brightly, the wolf head visible.

She traced the blade lightly against his neck, blood starting to flow. And then she dropped him, throwing the dagger onto the floor as she walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a little shorter than the last one, and that it took a bit to get this one up. an average chapter length seems to be 2k, but that miiight change. I have some chapters written already, but figure its better to put them out fairly evenly rather than all at once then not at all.  
> Please comment, the reason i remembered to post this chapter is because i saw a comment!  
> Also: i can talk about Colas for hours, so hit me up on my tumblr if you want to scream with me: sirumbraranting.tumblr.com  
> Thank you to my amazing beta and motivator, Sorxu!
> 
> elven in this chapter:  
> Ir abelas. Ir abelas, da´len - I am sorry. I am sorry, child
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> -description of minor wounds  
> -unhealthy coping mechanisms  
> -briefly alluded to past-abuse  
> -guilt and self-hate  
> -descriptions of self harm wounds  
> -severe nervous scratching/biting/etc  
> -minor confrontation and reaction to self harm
> 
> If any more warnings need to be added, tell me. Stay safe!

 Solas lightly runs the wet cloth over the wound. It stings. The dried blood stuck to his skin needed scrubbing to get off, the water dripping down his neck in brown swirls. He could have washed it earlier, but had instead stayed on the rotunda floor. It was more confusion than self pity, but the fact that someone he _loved_ had just cut him was…difficult to process.

 

He felt a distinct sense of betrayal, but knew it was mostly unfounded. He had hurt her, knowing what it would do to her. He had considered, had weighed the options. had decided that she was less important than his plan.

 

Her words concerned him. there were few she could have been talking about, few that he had spent any time with. He suspected it was Cole, but he could not know for sure. But if it was Cole, something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

 

He had been giving the spirit time, distancing himself from the situation. Speaking to him now would only cause more pain. He would not let Cole fix this, let him help him. Cole’s anger had startled him more than he liked to admit. He wanted to hit himself for how he had reacted to it, yelling at him. He _knew_ how Cole felt about loud noises, had seen the twitch of his shoulders when a single voice was raised. It wasn’t _right_ , and he would make himself remember the look on his dear friends face when he had done it.

 

Solas wiped off his hands, glancing at the knife still in the corner. He picked it up, placing it under the cloth covering one of the objects in the room. Something to deal with later. Now he had to find out what was wrong.

 

Briskly walking out of the room, he wandered. Cole might be in the tavern, but he could never be sure. He did not wish to ask someone about Cole that would have seen the…incident in the rotunda, which made the list of people to ask smaller. Dorian and Vivienne would have seen or heard, Sera and Lavellan were never an option to begin with, and Iron Bull would have found out. Lady Nightingale was dangerous, and he was in no state to verbally spar with her.

 

He decided to speak with Cassandra. The Seeker was a kind woman, more caring than she let others believe. Solas was confident that if something was wrong with his spirit friend, she would know of it. She was also fairly secluded, in a open place. There was little possibility of confrontation, and retreat would be quick.

 

When he saw her, her forehead glistened in the sun. The sweat beaded down her face as she hit the dummy over and over, her muscles tightening. Solas was not so proud as to deny how she intimidated him like this, the snarl on her face and fire in her eyes. He hoped he would not have to face her in battle in the near future.

 

“Seeker?”

 

She stopped abruptly, her sword stopping in mid air. She panted, placing the weapon on the ground and wiping her forehead as she smiled. She seemed slightly perplexed at his presence, and he did not blame her. He rarely approached her, and never while she practiced. She seemed to disregard the confusion, and her smile grew.

 

“Solas! What a surprise, I have not seen you for quite some time.”

 

“I apologise, the Inquisitor has been finding more artifacts for me as of late. I see your skills in battle are as fine as ever.“ He smiled and nodded towards the destroyed practice dummies. Cassandra looked slightly flustered.

 

“I…thank you. I trust you are well?” Solas was grateful that his shirt covered the wound on his throat.

 

“Yes, though I must admit that with the work I have been doing, I have spent little time with the rest of the inner circle. How are you? Sometimes I worry that the Inquisitor forgets how grueling battle can be.”

 

Cassandra smiled sadly, and he cursed himself for mentioning Ethilia so much. He knew that Cassandra could be (was) a romantic, and had seemed more happy when he and Ethilia were together. His chest tightened. She was not the only one.

 

“I am well. I appreciate your concern. As for the rest of the inner circle, most seem to be acting as usual. I have meant to ask you, do you know if something happened to Cole? “

 

The pit of his stomach dropped.

 

“No. Is he alright?” He tried to stay calm, to keep the fear out of his voice. Cassandra frowned looking concerned.

 

“He has been quite distraught, though he wont tell me why. He has been staying in the attic for the past three days, not speaking.” Her frown disappeared as she thought, her expression lighting up.

 

“I am sure he would speak to you! Would you speak with him? I worry about him,” Misreading his expression of horror, she hastened to add, “I am sure he is alright, I only worry. Do not feel compelled to do so on my request.”

 

“He is still in the attic?” Solas managed to croak out between the despair and guilt he felt roaring.

 

He barley waited for her to nod before running past her.

 

The tavern door slammed open, but the noise was lost in the laughter and yelling of the building. Barely anyone glanced at the distraught elf in the door, and those who did looked away, shrugging. Solas felt as though he had momentarily forgotten where the stairs were, his head frantically moving as he found them. As he started leaping up them, he felt a gaze on his back. His eyes snapped back, locking with the one eye of the Iron Bull. He saw the small curl of his lip before going back to laughing with the Chargers.

 

_Shit._

 

He found Cole where Cassandra had told him he would be: in the attic. It was not technically an attic, the customers in the tavern could always be on that floor, but no one ever was. After people stopped going there, supplies had been placed there. Cole seemed to like it, to not be next to anyone but still hear and feel them. Solas could never have stayed in such a place. While noise could be calming, listening to it with such intensity would have exhausted him.

 

Cole sat on the ground, his arms around his knees while he curled up in the corner. As he approached, the elf could see the spirits red eyes and the knotted hair. The bandages usually on his hands lay on the floor. His nails were short and bloody, uneven and some partly split. There was both dried and fresh blood on his hands, some leaking out of the scabs all over his arms and hands. The skin on the side of his finders had patches of discolored, uneven flesh. Solas could see the rough edges on the tips of his fingers. His arms had red lines going downwards, the scabs in patches as long as his hand.

 

Solas knelt in front of cole, holding his arms. Cole slowly looked up, his eyes void of emotion. He blinked, achingly slow.

 

Solas surged forward, feeling the sting in his eyes as he squeezed them shut. His arms wrapped around Cole and he tried to breathe.

 

“ _Ir abelas. Ir abelas, da’len,_ ” He stopped himself from repeating himself again. He held back his tears, the horror at how he had hurt his friend overwhelming. He focused on making it right, as best he could. On helping Cole.

 

His tears spilled in relief as Cole finally wrapped his arms around him.

 

After long moments of silence, holding each other, solas tried loosening his hold. Cole let him loosen the hug only slightly before his long arms held Solas tightly back.

 

“Cole…you can't do that to yourself.” Solas pleaded as he saw the red lines on the spirit's face.

 

“No.” Cole’s voice was harder than Solas had expected.

 

“What?”

 

“You can't tell me to take care of myself when you _refuse_ help. It has been 4 months, and you won't let me help. You only sink deeper and deeper into the darkness, and I can _hear_ it. I hear it, the cries in your head, the hate. “

 

Solas sighed.

 

“Is this why you…have been here, not speaking to anyone?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Solas tried pulling away to look into Cole’s eyes, but found himself in a tighter embrace.

 

“Don’t leave”

 

“I won't.”

 

Solas slowly turned around, his back to Cole’s chest. He sunk into Cole, trying to relax.

 

“I don’t think I can let you help me. Not as much as you want. But I will help you.”

 

He could feel Coles smile against his scalp, arms tightening. He kissed Solas’s crown, sighing.

 

“It’s ok. You don’t need to talk.”

 

They sat there for hours. Occasionally they whispered, sometimes almost arguing. Solas still did not want Cole’s help, but it was a start.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> always said i was a good kid  
> always said i had a way with words  
> never knew i could be speechless  
> don't know how i'll ever break this curse
> 
>  
> 
> burn it down — daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooOO it me, sorxu/gore/friedrelish, comin atchu  
> bean is a sleeby boy so i'm posting this for him. i am the wee beta, but u will see some of my writing eventually in sunsoaked itself as a series. guesS ? whos writing aLL THE TRESPASSER SHIT??? it me!!! sorry we haven't updated in so heckIgn long, we try to space out our chapters reasonably but fail miserably because neither of us can keep a schedule. 
> 
> thank u, the two people who have commented on this, for ur support. we both rly appreciate that u like our ideas!!! we hope u will continue to read this because we are both rly just garbage teenagers who are lightly dead inside  
> ok that's all, goobye
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> \- nudity mention (nothing explicit)  
> \- violence  
> \- mental health shit  
> \- solas is still denying his feelings like a fucking moron

Things changed after that. They were not large, only small shifts. Where Solas had before never touched the spirit, he now occasionally did. A small hug when they were alone, a hand on a shoulder. The touches seemed to ground Cole, make him less nervous, yet he rarely touched him still.  Sometimes Cole tried to talk, to get Solas to heal properly. Solas always refused, cutting Cole off from his pain. He tried not to, when he saw the anguish on compassion’s face. However, this was a part of him that could not be healed, it was too intertwined with what he had done- and what he was going to.

They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, curled up on the floor. Solas had woken up long before Cole. He stared at his sleeping face, the lines of worry gone. The apostate then looked at the spirits hands, resisting the urge to hold them. He slowly got up, stretching. While the floor did not make a comfortable mattress, there were worse places to sleep. With how warm Cole was against him (who knew he was secretly a walking heater this whole time), there had been no need for a blanket. Sighing, he stood. 

Solas didn’t know what to do. He did not know if he would be able to bear pushing Cole away again. Ethilia had been bad enough, but hurting a spirit of _compassion_ (of all things) seemed wrong. There were too few of such spirits now, so many that were killed cruelly.

How could he justify leaving Ethilia, but staying with Cole? He scoffed at the thought. He wasn’t _together_ with Cole, and never would be. He just had to continue holding Cole at a distance.  He saw a fur blanket nearby in one of the crates. He gently laid it over Cole, smiling softly as the spirit pulled it closer to his face. Solas quietly made his way down the stairs. For all the crap Ethilia had given him about always being barefoot, it made stealth so much easier. 

Some of the costumers were passed out on the floor. Quite unusual, it meant that either the barman had felt generous that night, or, more likely, some other barkeep had been the night before. As he snuck through the room, he was grateful that everyone slept. He had almost made it out of the tavern, opening the door a crack to get out, when Iron Bull woke up. The Tevinter soldier drooled on the qunari’s shoulder, the larger man supporting his weight. He must have woken to the change in light, because when the elf turned around he could see The Iron Bull eying him curiously. 

They stared each other for a moment, before Solas darted out the door. It was stupid that he had not considered that Bull might be there to see him leave, but it made him feel like he had committed a crime. It was irrational, yet he felt uncomfortable knowing that the man knew he had stayed with Cole. He hoped that Bull would simply forget seeing him, or think it a drunken dream. Knowing his luck, it wouldn’t happen, but he could always hope.

 

 

 

 

It had been days. As soon as the inquisitor had noticed the shift in Cole and Solas, she had left for the Storm Coast. She barely knew what she was doing, only that she was killing.

Killing was never something she thought she would use to cope.

She had approached Leliana, and something in her eyes had made the spymaster hand her a piece of paper with a location and mission. How Leliana had known that she needed the violence was a mystery, but Ethilia appreciated that she didn’t speak of it.

Ethilia slowly and carefully cleaned her crossbow. It was a sturdy thing, with little ornament. It was nothing like Varric’s Bianca, nowhere near as beautiful. But it worked well, and had been given as a gift. She studied her party, the women so different from each other.  Vivienne had her lip curled as she cleaned her boots, washing some of the grime off with a spell. Cassandra scanned the area, before slowly sheathing her sword. Sera huffed and sat down on a rock. 

“Could really use a shower to get all these bits off. Eugh!” She stuck her tongue in disgust out and shook her hand, watching blobs fly off. Ethilia raised her eyebrows and shook her head, not entirely disapproving. Vivienne sighed. 

“As much as I hate to agree, she does have a point. Not all of us enjoy the dirt.” 

Now _that_ was an odd thing to say. Ethilia liked to think that there were different levels of being rude. For example, having bad table manners of using some ill-chosen nickname was fine, while sneering at anyone lower-class than you and making snide comments was not. 

“All have their own ideas. Some, for example, see others as people and not objects to gain power, but that must be my _poor upbringing_ speaking. Though I have heard that in most areas, a remark meant to embarrass one for the sake of feeling superior would be meet with a fist. How fortunate you never spend time in the Anderfells. “ 

Cassandra stared disapprovingly at her. Sera started to giggle. 

“My dear, do not attempt to insult me. It makes you seem more pathetic then you already are.” 

Ethilia smiled acidly, moving closer to Vivienne. 

“Oh, don’t worry. No matter how I insulted you, I would never stoop to your level. I was merely observing fact, though I do not blame you for seeing what you wanted. Orleians seem to think the rest of Thedas hates them. Not to say that they don’t.”

Vivienne raised her eyebrow, tilting her head to the side, “Are you perhaps seeking a confrontation? So unbefitting of the almighty Inquisitor to be so violent towards her allies. “

“Are you volunteering?”

Cassandra, thankfully, pushed them apart as Vivienne tensed, seeing the utterly feral glint in Ethilia’s eyes. 

“Inquisitor, I would speak with you,”  Ethilia smiled wider, turning her back to Vivienne. She threw her hand up as she started walking.

“I saw a stream up the path, we should clean up.”

 

 

 

 

 

Before they had left Skyhold, suddenly, Leliana had approached Cassandra. It was not a long conversation, happening as they left the war room. Leliana made sure they were alone, in a way to not show they had ever spoken. Leliana had told Cassandra of the Inquisitors state of mind, from what her spies had told her, and told Cassandra to keep an eye on the elf. It had been worrying, but Cassandra had wondered if Leliana had been overly cautious. She was very wrong. 

While Ethilia and Vivienne had never gotten along that well, there was a fair amount mutual respect. They did not speak of each other when one was not present, and if they did, the other pretended it had not happened or she had never known. When Cassandra had seen the fury in the Inquisitors eyes, she had understood something was wrong.

She kept a closer eye on her after that, walking close behind her as they made their way to the stream.

Sera and Vivienne were “chatting”, if one could even call it that, and the mage kept an outer appearance of calm. It was obvious however that the Inquisitor had unsettled her. There was a unique sense of terror in realizing that one of the most powerful figures in Thedas may or may not be about to snap.

Cassandra sighed as they stopped by the large stream. While she could have walked all the way back to Skyhold without complaining, it _would_ be refreshing to take a bath. As Cassandra surveyed the area, looking for any danger, Vivienne spoke. She seemed more cautious now, her words halting as though calculating whether the words could possibly offend. 

“There seems to be a more secluded part over there, behind those rocks. They would be excellent for privacy.”

Ethilia stared at her blankly. Then she dropped her weapons and started removing her clothing. 

There was no hesitation or shame in her movements. Cassandra respectfully glanced away. Sera snickered and then gave a low whistle. Vivienne’s eyes widened, looking for a way out. When Ethilila was done, she spun around and walked towards the water. Cassandra sighed and picked up the Inquisitors discarded clothing and weapons, placing them on a rock. 

As Sera lay laughing hysterically at Vivienne as she walked away, Ethilia had dunked her head under the water. Before the Inquisitor could make a comment about her shyness, Cassandra started undressing. 

Sera jumped in, yelling some obscenity about the cold. It was a wonder her head didn’t hit a rock.  Ethilia looked more relaxed than Cassandra had seen her for months. She didn’t seem happy, but her muscles relaxed slightly. Ethilia had been so tightly wound, and Cassandra had barely noticed until it was gone. She was suddenly very thankful that Leliana was more observant than her.

 

 

 

 

 

The water was cold. It wasn’t a surprise, and in its own way it was comforting. It brought memories of sneaking out with her brother, daring each other to stay in the water the longest. They had come home sopping wet, shivering, pieces of ice still in their hair. It became easier to sneak away when they grew older, and Nathaniel could heat them with his magic.  He had never heated the water though, afraid it would destroy the wildlife.

It had been so long since they spoke. Going to spy at the conclave had been so long ago now, and at the time she had already been away from her clan for months spying or hunting. In the midst of all this, she wondered if she would ever see him again. With the amount of chaos and destruction outside their front door, it seemed more likely that she would die than win.

She touched the scar over her nose. It made her smile, if only for the memory of her brother looking absolutely exasperated. She had been 20, off hunting. She was days out from her clan, and having a bit of fun climbing a tree. She was unsure exactly what had happened, but she had landed on a particularly nasty rock and slid down a hill. After she had eventually sewed it shut, she went home.  

By the time she got there, the wound was badly infected (and quite sore).  With healing magic, it was not a _horrible_ thing, but her brother had sternly said, “You were a fucking idiot. I swear, sometimes I’m the older sibling. Anyway, have a nice time with the scar.“ 

He had pretended to be angry, but she could see the small smile tugging his lips. He was happy she was safe. 

 Varric had once said it resembled the Champion of Kirkwall’s traditional paint, one night when he had been _incredibly_ drunk. It amused Ethilia, that two rather famous people had a similar mark on the middle of their face. It still seemed like a trick being played on the world, that some of the most influential people outside Orlais were typically oppressed groups. The Warden-Commander had openly married an elf, a former Crow at that. The Champion of Kirkwall was a mage, and Ethilia was Dalish. 

Sometimes she wondered if her brother envied her. It was illogical: she was risking her life, facing odds she could never beat, being called a religious figure from people who hated the Dalish, but sometimes she wondered if they would have both been happier if switched around. The Keeper had considered sending Nathaniel to the conclave, but because Ethilia had already been close she was sent instead. 

Nathaniel had always been the one with a taste for politics, always the one to speak of the subtleties of a person’s reactions. Perhaps if his ears were rounder, his magic less potent, his name a title, her brother could have played the Game. He could have played so excellently, if he could have stomached it.  But she doubted it would have been a possibility, no matter how much he had fantasized as a child. He was too good a man.

Musing, she realized she had sat in the frigid water for a long time. Sera was making jokes that Cassandra didn’t seem to approve of. Most likely remarking on how naked they were or making horrible puns. She stretched, looking at the goosebumps on her skin. She liked watching how the water ran down her arms, stopped by all the little bumps, weaving through. The way her scars changed the direction. It made her feel colder, and her mind felt…odd. 

“Hey Inky? You’re too elfy for me, but the way you just prance around, shaking your stuff? You look well fit!” 

Cassandra let out a indignant stutter, but Ethilia laughed. She continued laughing, until even Sera’s smile wavered.

“You’re friggin’ weird.”

“Well, that is actually flattering, considering everything.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> black flies on the windowsill  
> that we are   
> that we are  
> that we are to know  
> winter stole summer's thrill  
> and the river's cracked and cold
> 
> \- black flies by ben howard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we back, boiz!!!  
> so now that i've finished editing i just have to wait for bean to finish ch5 but he's an ASS so who knows?? when that'll be done.i if bean finished we'll have a double upload day since it's been a...not long time since ch3 went up? ugh we're making progress thats all that matters oK
> 
> welp theres that!!
> 
> warnings and stuff:  
> \- um solas is still solas  
> \- mental health shit, as always  
> \- mentions of violence
> 
> and thats abt it this is p tame

The Inquisitor had been away for days, having spontaneously gone to kill Venatori. Cassandra had hastily told him they were going after the soldiers, but it still didn’t make sense. Dorian would have accompanied her if it was, but he was safely at Skyhold with the rest of them, making eyes at Iron Bull. The glares Solas had received had lessened as Cole became happier, but both Dorian and Bull seemed more cautious of him now. 

He would have to deal with them later. But he could wait a bit longer, make sure Cole’s wounds healed.

It had horrified Solas,  seeing the boy’s hands. They were rough, scabbed, and he wondered if some of the scars there were not from battle. He himself had never caused himself physical harm when distressed, but he could see why Cole did it. It was like the twitching of the spirits leg when the men shouted angrily, the rocking when it all became to much. The scratching and biting was compulsive, done without thought. Solas suspected that once Cole began, it became impossible to stop. 

While the Inquisitor was gone, Skyhold became slightly calmer, though the tension grew in the air. There was always the possibility that one of Lavellan’s trips would end in blood, leaving Thedas without its Inquisitor. The longer she was away the more whispers floated, the more people seeking comfort in the tavern. It became noisier, and Solas started staying with Cole in other parts of the fortress. 

He kept a close eye on him the first few days, cleaning his wounds. There was not much else he could do for the physical wounds, and something dark inside him whispered of how hopeless it was. No matter what he did, Cole would hurt himself again. He could not always be by his side, holding the spirits hands gently when he started scratching. 

Solas wanted to find him something else. Something to do other than cause such injuries, but he was unsure of their relationship. The elf had helped Cole ground himself in the past, and did more now with the Inquisitor gone. But he didn’t know where the line went, what would be wrong. He could not ask the spirit of compassion; his view of boundaries were odd, something he had to learn. 

Truthfully Solas didn’t quite understand why he was so desperate to make sure he did not cross a line. He had no romantic interest in the younger man, and he was a spirit. Friendships with spirits were always different, deeper in some ways. He mused that it might be how Cole wasn’t exactly a spirit anymore, becoming more human every day. 

Or it could be how desperate he was to not fuck this up.

With Ethilia, Cassandra, Vivienne, and Sera gone, Solas noticed the shift in the inner circle. Varric seemed more isolated, though he never stopped speaking to possible contacts. But Solas could see his mask slipping, the circles that started forming under his eyes. The ink on his hands. The frown as he wrote. 

Solas wondered what was causing the distress, and once tried glancing at his papers when the writer walked out. They were well hidden in some ways, in the main hall as they were. If he had actually walked over and started rustling in the papers, he had no doubt that the dwarf would be informed within minutes. The papers that were there were covered with blank ones, obviously covering the ones under from prying eyes. 

Solas walked over to the table, putting a hand gently on it. He glanced around, as though looking for the dwarf and then deciding to wait for him to come back. He could see the tops of some of the papers, obviously letters put down in a hurry. Varric would be back soon then, no one would leave for long with personal letters on their desk. The first was obviously written by Varric, the first few lines visible. It was addressed to “Rivani”, with the rest of the message being cryptic and vague. It mentioned a “blondie”, but not much else.

The other letter interested him more. It was in different handwriting, rougher. Solas eyes widened as he started reading. 

 

_ Hey good looking.  _

_ I know you don’t want to send any messages to me, keeping me “out of danger” and all. As though that were possible.  _

 

The letter went on, but Solas could see Varric in the doorway. They both froze for a moment, staring at each other across the room. They both knew what he had been doing, but accusing him of it would give him less information than just letting the elf go on. The dwarf smiled easily, walking over with his hands spread. 

“Chuckles! How are you?”

“Hello, Master Tethras. Could I take a moment of your time? I wish to discuss something,” In all honesty he, hadn’t really, but he could fake it.

“Sure thing. What’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering whether you know where the inquisitor went. It seemed slightly odd that she left so quickly, though I may have just been preoccupied,” Varric gave him a look. Solas wondered how much he knew, how much he had found out. He guessed quite a lot.

“She didn’t really tell me, though I know Nightingale knows. I suppose that’s the only thing that’s important,” There was a small pause, “She told me you have been spending a lot of time with the kid. How is he?”

Solas twitched, staring at the shorter man. It was hard to tell what Varric was after sometimes. If it was for information about Cole or Solas, or if he already knew everything. He recovered from the change of topic quickly. The fact that he adapted less smoothly to the change than normal because it was about  _ Cole _ was something he absolutely refused to think about. 

“He is well, though the change to become more human is at times trying. Why do you ask?”

“Just looking out for the kid.” They stared at each other. They both had different ideas of what would help Cole, and they still had a few trust issues when it came to him. After a pause, Solas nodded and started walking off

“I will not keep you from your work, Master Tethras. Good day.”

It was an odd tension between them, that only came up when they spoke of cole. It stayed in the air, making them relatively silent around each other. Solas could admit that after Cole had first dealt with the Templar, he had been angry. That Varric would want to change a spirit, make him something he could more easily define. That he could put in one of his books.

Solas shook his head at his own irrational anger. It had worked out well, and Cole was, for the most part, happy. The mage tried to steer his thoughts in a different direction. Focusing on Cole and his happiness would do nothing good. 

  
  
  


 

 

Cole woke up alone, again. It was not something horrible, but sometimes he wished that Solas would stay longer. 

A few days after they had both fallen asleep in the attic, Solas had started holding his hands until he slept. Cole recognized it as a very intimate gesture, and wondered if that was why he could always feel Solas’ hesitation as he reached for him. Cole was happy he did it though, as it grounded him, reminded him where he was. 

Solas held his hands tenderly, careful of his wounds, but still radiating love of a kind. It confused Cole. It felt as though Solas were afraid of something, but he could not quite make it out. It was harder now, hearing it all. He had noticed the change when he tried hearing Ethilia. She had always been so bright, and it sometimes hard to hear her under all the hope everyone placed in her. Now, it overwhelmed him. But he could understand other things better, could help some people more. He was happy with how he could help people now, how much more real he was. 

Except for Solas.

With Solas, he couldn’t stop thinking that if he had done as he had advised, that he could have helped him more. It was easier for Solas to cut him off now, and a few times Cole had suspicions that he had purposefully mislead him. 

Cole breathed in the crisp air, feeling it burn his lungs. He felt  _ more _ now, everything sharper. He could understand some more too, the concept of lines for personal information and space. He couldn’t find those lines that easily, but he could sometimes recognize when he crossed them. He would see their faces and the looks they gave him, and connect the emotions.

He didn’t know if the same lines applied to Solas. 

  
  
  
  


 

Josephine Montilyet was a patient woman. She could sit for hours without losing her temper, politely but clearly making herself heard in any argument. She was an excellent ambassador, and would stay loyal to whatever cause she chose. That loyalty had led her to the Inquisition. 

The Inquisition had led her a great many places. The variety of people she conferred with still amazed her, and she had slowly become used to the never ending chaos. The pace was punishing, everything going from calm to frantic in an instant. She used the small pauses to relax, making sure she was always ready for anything.

Some things she could not prepare for.

“Leliana, you must tell me where the Inquisitor has gone! We had a-“

“I don’t need to tell you anything. The Inquisitor is busy with matters most important to the Inquisition.” 

Josephine gasped and leant back. The spymaster folded her arms, feigning disinterest. Cullen seemed unsure of whether or not to interfere. Josephine’s face twisted, her hurt feeding her anger.

“You dare! We spoke of this, we agreed! You cannot hide this, you have no right!” 

Josephine surged, her palms hitting the table. The marker next to her, a bell, fell. Her voice dropped, her anger turning cold. 

“You have no right. You are not solely responsible for the Inquisition, you do not make the decisions. You do not decide what we need to know about the Inquisitor,” She snarled, hair falling into her face when she leaned forward

Leliana took a step back. Her arms fell, her eyes widened. She tensed, her fingers twitching. Cullen briefly thought he saw a sliver of fear.

“Josephine-“  Leliana tried speaking calmly, to placate her friend. She interrupted

“Montilyet. You will use formal language when addressing me, Seneschal. “

Leliana felt as though she had been slapped.

Cullen let out a yell, turning on the ambassador, “Josephine! Calm down, this is getting us nowhere,” Josephine stared at Leliana. She slowly straightened, righting the piece she had knocked over. Her gaze swept over to Cullen. He gulped.

“You can be angry, but yelling will do nothing. I am sure Leliana is doing what is best,” The Ambassador huffed, turning.  Leliana had managed to compose herself, a mask falling into place. She spoke slowly and quietly.

“I did not tell you because it was imperative the reasons for her departure were not known.”

The anger that had been pushed to cold fury exploded. Her gaze focused on Leliana , hand raising as she pointed to her friend. She forced her way to the spymaster, jabbing with her finger as the other clenched. Leliana stumbled, hand now holding a dagger. 

“It was not your decision to make!”

Any further argument was stopped as a tentative knock came from the door. 

They froze. Cullen walked between the two women, gently murmuring to Josephine when she protested. Leliana lowered her weapon and looked away as she walked to the door. 

“Yes?” The young man looked as though this were the last place he would ever wish to be. 

“I have a message from one of your scouts, Ser,” Leliana looked down into the man’s eyes. His voice was raspy, and she wondered how much lower it would have been if he were not nervous. She hoped he was competent, that despite his age, he would know to keep his mouth shut. Just to be sure, she made sure to keep eye contact as she took the note. 

“You understand the need for discretion, yes? Ser…” the man almost dropped to the floor when he saw her hand moving towards her belt.

“Martin.” His voice seemed to have risen an octave, his eyes searching for escape. She smiled and leaned forward.

“Alright, Ser Martin. Thank you for your services. I do hope you understand the importance of secrecy. Good day”

As he stumbled back and ran, Leliana closed her eyes and sighed. Closing the door, she started decoding the message. 

  
  
  
  


Cassandra was growing worried. Ethilia had stopped talking to their party as the days went on. While Lavellan usually didn’t smile much, her words were often filled with humor. Now she only spoke when ordering, and no amount of berating caused anything other than a snarl. 

After her fifth attempt to get Lavellan to speak with her, she found a runner. Ethilia had decided to set camp away from the scouts stationed. Cassandra considered, briefly, going to a runner herself. It would not take her too long, and she guessed she could be back in less than 3 hours.  She might be noticed, but she had to risk it.

 

As they walked in silence, Cassandra considered how to write the note. It had to be relatively short, but long enough for Leliana to understand how serious the situation could become. 

In the past few fights, the Inquisitor had started edging closer to her allies. A bolt just a little closer than it should have been, a wild eye as she identified her targets, seeming to not notice the blood dripping from her wounds. Even Sera tensed when Ethilia pointed her crossbow in their direction. 

Cassandra wanted to clutch the potion in her satchel. She had stolen it from Ethilia, a sleeping potion. If need be, she would use it. She could not risk the Inquisitor. Thedas needed the Inquisition, and they needed their leader. 

But she would not use it lightly. It would be a betrayal of trust, something not forgiven. So she did not reach for the potion, instead attempting to gently suggest returning to Skyhold soon. Making little comments concerning Josephine and how she hoped everyone was alright without them. It seemed to make Ethilia pause. There seemed to be hope.

  
  
  
  
  


Cole smiled as he looked out over the roof. He liked it up here, above everyone else. He would have done it more often if he could, but it upset Sera. But as Sera was away with the Inquisitor, he could be on the roof as much as he wanted. 

The spirit nearly yelled with joy as he saw Solas below, looking out of place in front of the tavern. He threw a piece of moss down, hoping to get his attention. He didn’t really want to yell; it was so peaceful. Solas saw him, shock visible as he looked up. He smiled.

As they sat together, Cole asking questions and receiving as many answers as he possibly could get, he felt Solas slowly relax. He was laughing, his face open. Cole had to stop himself from commenting. It seemed that if he said how happy it made him to slowly help, Solas would only block him off again. So instead he leaned towards the elf, placing his head on his shoulder. 

“I’m glad I make you laugh.”

Solas considered it, for a beat. He could help Cole. Could show him how to take care of himself, how to not let others pain become his own. 

With the barest hesitation, he reached for Cole’s hand.


End file.
